All Hallows' Eve Fun
by TheMourningMadam
Summary: A collection of five one-shots inspired by aesthetics made by sleepygrimm. Featuring a trick-or-treating Lucius/Narcissa, a vampiric Draco/Hermione, ghost-hunting Draco/Hermione, creature-tracking Harry/Theo and Neville/Pansy visiting a muggle funhouse. All written in pure fun!
1. A Night of Frivolity

_Author's Note: This is the first in a series of five Halloween one-shots that I am working with_ _ **sleepygrimm**_ _to develop. She sends me an aesthetic she made, and I write a story to go along with it. As evidenced here, they are not all Dramione for the main pairing—something kinda new for me (and no, Hermione nor Draco will be paired with anyone else in any of these stories). This is a Lucius/Narcissa, first and foremost. Featuring Dramione's children and a tricky little treat for Lucius, as requested by Sleepygrimm. Also, I know Trick-or-Treating is either hit or miss, but it was the topic presented and it was too cute to pass up._

 **A Night of Frivolity**

"Tell me again why we agreed to this, Cissy," Lucius Malfoy said through clenched teeth, shoving a hat down onto his wigged head, complete with a ridiculous plume of feathers.

"Because, Lucius, we are trying to be supportive of Draco and Hermione's decision to integrate the Muggle world into the children's lives," Narcissa told him, waving her wand toward the back of her dress to cinch the lacing tighter. "And quit your caterwauling. It's one night in a disguise and bringing joy to your grandchildren."

"It's completely ludicrous, Cissy. These Muggles have lost their minds, dressing up to go and beg for treats."

Narcissa turned around, clad in a Renaissance-era gown made of crushed emerald velvet and black lace with silver trim. Lucius huffed as he thrust a sword through his belt, completing his pirate ensemble and then his eyes raked over his wife. He stepped into her, quirking one pale eyebrow as he ran his fingertips over the soft swells of her breasts. "If I go along with this farce of a Samhain celebration, do I get a treat of my own?" he asked, his voice growing husky in a way that still made Narcissa shiver.

"If you behave. No _tricking_ the Muggles," she warned, poking him in the center of his chest. "Come along, darling, it's nearly time."

The Malfoy parents went to the fireplace and Lucius leaned in to drag his lips along his wife's collarbone before she called out the address to where Draco's family dwelt. Narcissa swatted him away as she stepped out of the fireplace and into her son's home. Hermione was buckling a pair of patent leather shoes onto little Cassie's feet. The four-year-old was dressed as something Narcissa could only imagine was supposed to be a Muggle's version of a witch. "Gran!" the girl screeched, hurrying away from her mother.

Hermione huffed and sat back on her bottom, one shoe still in hand as Narcissa scooped Cassie into her arms. She walked to Hermione, holding her hand out for the other shoe as she chided her granddaughter for her behavior in a tone that was anything but reprimanding. "You shouldn't do that to your mummy, now should you?" Narcissa cooed as she sat on the edge of the loveseat and put Cassie on her knee to buckle her shoe.

"Are you supposed to be Captain Hook?" Hermione questioned Lucius, giggling lightly behind her hand.

"Who?" the wizard questioned, looking down at his stark red attire and smoothing a hand over his curly black wig. "This is the disguise Draco had delivered. I look ridiculous, don't I?"

Hermione shook her head as Draco walked down the stairs, dressed in dress robes, carrying two-year-old Scorpius. "No, actually, that costume is quite spectacular. Far more detailed than most Muggles will be."

Draco caught sight of his parents and let out a loud booming laugh, causing Scorpius to be startled at first. But eventually the little blond cherub began to laugh gleefully. "Gran and Papa look funny, don't they, little lion?"

Scorpius was wearing some kind of a woven head piece that looked handmade, long brown ropes of soft chenille creating a lion's mane and a pair of yellow overalls. He was laughing along with his father, who bent in to kiss him before handing him off to the fearsome pirate Lucius was trying to portray. Draco bent to kiss his mother's cheek in greeting and retrieved Cassie's pointed hat from Hermione to place on her head.

Hermione rose from where she sat, she herself clad in a gold ball gown. "We can't thank you enough for taking the children tonight. If you need anything, you know where to find us."

Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. "We will be absolutely fine with these little angels."

"You probably won't have to stop at too many houses—Cassie will tire easily, and Scorpius is too young to care, honestly," Hermione told them, pulling a small clutch purse over her shoulder as Draco ushered her toward the floo.

"They'll be fine, Hermione. Let's just get out of here," he told her, handing her the masquerade mask she was to wear for the evening.

Hermione looked down at her children, a look of longing on her face. Narcissa knew she had no desire to go to the Ministry's Halloween Ball, but as a high ranking official, she was expected to be there. No matter, Narcissa was determined to show the children a good time, even if she had no idea how to go about this trick-or-treating business. "Are you ready to go?" she asked Cassie, placing her on the floor once more and giving Scorpius' little hand a tug where he clung to Lucius.

"Not even in the slightest," Lucius mumbled under his breath, earning him a death glare from his wife.

Cassie let out a banshee's screech of excitement and ran into the kitchen, returning with a handled paper bag. "I've got my sack, let's go! Before all of the good treats are gone!"

With that, the vivacious little witch ran to the door and opened it, her grandparents following her closely. Children wearing disguises—ghosts, goblins, princesses and creatures of all kinds—ran and frolicked about. The accompanying adults were not really disguised beyond a hat here or a cloak there. A fact Lucius took note of immediately. "Narcissa. We look like fools."

"We look like two people out having a splendid time with our grandchildren. Hush," she told him, sending an elbow to his ribs.

She sounded a lot more confident than she felt, but she followed her granddaughter's lead and allowed herself to be pulled in the direction of a home decorated with carved vegetables—pumpkins and turnips adorned the spindles of the front porch. Other children were prancing away, celebrating their spoils and a kindly looking muggle woman of about sixty stood in the doorway of her home. "What a pretty little witch we have here. And a ferocious little lion, too!" she said upon seeing the babies.

She placed what looked to be a teacake inside of a small cellophane bag into the sack that Cassie proffered. "Thank you!" she sing-songed, already turning around to trot away.

Narcissa offered the woman a smile and a curt nod and followed her granddaughter once more. "Muggles find this sort of nonsense appealing?" Lucius drawled next to her as Scorpius curled around his neck, already tired of the strange atmosphere.

Cassie ran toward a house and one of the children coming from the door slammed directly into her. Both children fell, but the boy hopped up and took his treat bag, telling Cassie to watch where she was going. Lucius stiffened next to Narcissa and she wrapped a hand around his wrist tightly. "Not here, Lucius."

The wizard clenched his jaw tightly and his grey eyes stared at the child's back. "What a rude little hellion."

And with that, the seams on his sack ripped and his night's spoils were strewn about the pavement. Lucius gave Narcissa a self-satisfied smirk while she glared in direction. "Was that really necessary? He's a child."

"He's a cretin," Lucius told her with a shrug.

They visited nearly two dozen houses before Cassie stomped back to where Narcissa and Lucius waited on the pavement. "My feet hurt—I want to go home!"

"Are you sure? We've only been out here for half an hour!" Narcissa told her, secretly relieved.

She could place a simple cushioning charm on the girl's feet, but Narcissa agreed with her husband—the frivolity of the uncouth children around them was wearing her patience thin already, though she would never voice this aloud to Lucius. "Why don't we go back to the big house, and we can go visit Grandfather Abraxas? I'm sure he would appreciate it."

The elder witch yearned for the simplicity of their traditional Samhain celebrations and to get away from all of the little urchins running amok in the streets. Cassie nodded and held her hand as they walked back to the young Malfoys' home to floo to the Manor.

The children's overnight bags were packed and sitting next to the fireplace and Lucius shifted Scorpius. "Can you be a strong little lion and walk into the floo by yourself?" Lucius asked the small boy, retrieving the bags.

"I think the elves are making you both something special," Narcissa told them.

Narcissa and Cassie were already waiting in the fireplace and Scorpius trotted along, skipping merrily as though he wasn't the least bit tired after their excursion into the suburbs of muggle London. Narcissa exchanged a glance with her husband, her age catching up with her as she thought of how early it still was and how tired she had become. With a sigh, they floo'ed collectively to the Manor and Cassie and Scorpius went tearing through the foyer toward the back of the house. Cassie slipped out of her painful shoes to run more freely. "Walk please," Narcissa called valiantly, though neither child listened.

She retrieved the bough she had collected from a yew tree earlier in the day and had hand-painted an ethereal shade of silver. Lucius removed the ridiculous wig and the heavy red coat he had been wearing all night. "I think the bough needs some apple blossoms, what do the two of you think?" Narcissa asked the children, running a hand through Scorpius' mass of curls. "How about we pick a few sprigs on the way down to visit Grandfather Abraxas?"

"Can we pick apples, too, Gran?" Cassie questioned, pulling her hat from her head and tossing it aside.

Her curls blew in the wind the moment they stepped outside. The air had a chill and Narcissa cast warming charms on the two children. It warmed her heart to see the children skipping and playing on the land where her husband and her son had once played. She had indulged Draco and Hermione in the muggle frivolities, but Samhain and the celebration as ancient as the Malfoy land itself, held true meaning to her. And she was delighted to be able to share this with her grandchildren as she had with her son.

Draco had always loved apple picking from her trees, magically lush with both the blossoms and the fruit. Lucius threaded his fingers with hers as they ambled across the moor toward the Malfoy family burial site. The children were dancing, with Cassie pretending to howl at the moon and Scorpius trying to roar like the lion he was disguised as.

"I don't remember Draco being this vivacious," Lucius remarked and Narcissa felt a sharp stab as she thought about the fact that Lucius had worked more often than not and missed it.

"Hermione has loosened Draco up quite a bit, and it shows in their children. Look how full of life their little faces are, just from something as simple as running and frolicking," she replied instead.

"Do you want apples for hand pies or not?" Lucius called and the children both stopped and eyed him with wide, greedy stares.

"Can we?" Cassie asked, already licking her lips in anticipation.

He transfigured a nearby branch into a woven basket and handed it to her. "I want you to collect ten apples. And count them all."

"He'll be able to tell, you know. My father," Lucius mentioned casually, though he sounded more strained than he was letting on.

He was speaking of the children's mixed blood lineage and she could tell that, even in death, the elder Malfoy would certainly intimidate his son just as he had in life. "Then we shall banish him back to the grave until next year, when he can _behave_."

Lucius huffed and watched the babes as they collected ten apples from the ground. Scorpius was taking each apple out of the basket that Cassie put in. Narcissa watched the reverence on her husband's face and thoroughly enjoyed the way they had softened him in his old age. Though he would have once disowned his son for his dalliances with the Muggleborn, there was no denying the witch was perfect for their son, that she loved him fiercely, and that they had built the picturesque life together. He would stand up to Abraxas if it meant keeping his family together during their time on earth now.

o-o-o

"We are getting way too old for this, Cissy," Lucius mentioned as Narcissa pulled the beaded snood from her hair.

She crossed the room to where her husband sat in his armchair, drinking a glass of firewhiskey as he watched her move. "You did well tonight. And you were on your best behavior," she murmured, turning her back toward where he sat. "Do you think you could get this?"

Lucius' grey eyes darkened as he looked up at his wife of thirty years, and he cast his glass aside to work at the lacing holding Narcissa's dress up. "How is it you look even lovelier now than the day I married you? And in a muggle disguise of all things," he whispered.

When the dress was loosened, Lucius grabbed her round the waist and pulled her into his lap. Gooseflesh rose over Narcissa's skin as he dragged his lips over the exposed plane of her back and his hand raked her gown back to disappear under the hem. Narcissa leaned back into his embrace and he began suckling at her bare shoulder, one of his hands toying with the top of her thigh high hose and the other palming her breast.

"I thought you were tired?" she teased him, her hand traveling the length of his thigh as she ground against his lap.

"I'm never too tired to ravish you," he growled in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

Narcissa pulled her arms free from the sleeves and Lucius ran both hands over the soft flesh now bared to him. She watched as he stared at her in the mirror before them, as he watched his hands drag over her, pulling her down harder against himself.

" _Grrraaaaannnnnn!"_ came a high-pitched screech from down the corridor.

Lucius groaned and dropped his forehead against her shoulder blade. "Let the elves tend to him."

"He didn't call for Bobo. He called for me. It won't take but a moment and I'll be back to finish where we left off," Narcissa told him, standing and leaning on both arms of the chair to kiss him sweetly.

"Five minutes. Not a moment longer."

"Impatient as always," she tutted, pulling her dress up as Scorpius began to cry loudly, breaking the stillness of the massive Manor.

"Only when I see something I want," Lucius retorted, bringing his whiskey back to his lips as he watched the alluring sway in Narcissa's hips. "And I will get that treat."

o-o-o

A/N: My first time venturing into the world of Lucissa. This is the older, tame version of them, I guess. Please review! And give these different pairings a chance—there will be some Dramione in here, too.


	2. Mischief in the Mortuary

_Author's Note: So, we switch gears for this one-shot to some young Dramione, a muggle au, and some creepiness/horror in a funeral home (my jam, obviously!). So, I hope you enjoy. Big shout out again to_ _ **sleepygrimm**_ _for creating the board that sparked this idea of mine. Find it on my tumblr at themourningmadam!_

 **Mischief in the Mortuary**

Salazar Slytherin and Sons Mortuary had stood on the grounds of Rolling Meadows Cemetery for nearly a hundred years. Built into an old Victorian style home, the house was dilapidated and gave off a genuinely creepy vibe. The Slytherin family had long since abandoned the place, but everything inside supposedly remained intact—at least that's what the rumors in the local secondary school claimed.

The structure seemed to lean slightly off of its foundation. The paint, once a bright white, had faded and chipped in most places to a dull grey, making it seem every bit the drab and depressing funeral home it had once been. Ivy grew up one side, bright orange in the mid-autumn moonlight. The grass was slightly overgrown and old rose bushes, no longer bearing buds, were climbing up the front trellises eerily. The windows on the first floor had been broken and boarded up, while the ones on the second floor were cracked but otherwise still protecting the second level. Standing in front of it, one could feel the anguish and heartbreak of the hundreds of people who had once passed through its doors.

A peek beyond the massive stone and wrought iron gates that hugged the cemetery protectively and it was evident that the hallowed ground was in an equal state of disrepair. The earth had come to claim its territory once more, with the twisted tree roots disrupting the graves and growing around the stones. Tombstones were crumbling or tilted dangerously, the names of the people buried below had been all but weathered away in the near constant rainfall of Wiltshire.

All Hallows' Eve found four teenagers staring up at the funeral home. The home nearly took on a life of its own, groaning with every breath of wind—in fact, _it_ almost seemed to breathe steadily, an uneasy feeling pulsating through the teens. Hermione shivered in the chilly night, though whether it was because of the cool air or because of the morbid vibrations rolling off of the home, she was uncertain. Her beau, Draco, noticed her shiver and removed his own coat, wrapping it around her shoulders and kissing her temple. It did not escape her notice that he seemed to be clenching his jaw to keep from chattering.

"This is a fucking ridiculous idea," Pansy barked, wrapping her own arms around her.

"Will you quit bellyaching, Parkinson?" Theo said grouchily, lifting a rock and tossing it at the already split and decaying sign, causing it to fall completely from its hooks. "You knew what we came here to do, and you came along anyway."

"Really, Pansy. Where is your sense of adventure?" Hermione asked, feeling her own tummy roil with the thought of entering into the funeral parlor.

"Since when do you break rules, Granger? Aren't you the one always preaching the values of 'hard work' and following the 'right path'?" the raven-haired girl hissed in response.

"Well, sometimes it feels good to let your hair down," Hermione bit out indignantly.

"Even if you've got an abundance," Draco purred into her ear, tugging a curl at the back of her head.

Hermione swatted him, laughing as Theo began marching up to the front door. "So, how are we going to get in?" he questioned, jiggling the doorknob as though it would magically unlock.

"We could pry a board from one of the back windows," Draco suggested, glancing over his shoulder at the empty street behind him to make sure no one was watching.

Hermione peered around as well, feeling as though they were being watched, but she, too, found no one but the quartet. Draco marched past all four of them and tried kicking the door in with the sole of his boot. "Have you lost your mind?" Hermione growled, pulling him away from the door. "We agreed not to damage anything."

"This is a sign we shouldn't be going in," Pansy screeched, throwing her hands up.

Draco opened his mouth to speak just as Hermione placed a hand on the door. They all heard a soft click and the door cracked open. Hermione jumped back in surprise and then shook her head as her rationale began to win. _Draco must have jarred it loose._ Theo pushed them aside and opened the door, pulling out his torch and shining it into the depths of the old house.

The furniture within had clearly not been touched in decades, save some stray animals and other mischievous teens, and it was caked with a thick layer of dust. They all took a moment in what must have been a grand foyer when the funeral home was still in use, a chandelier swaying slightly. There were rooms off to their sides, wide and open with strange, tall lamps and more antique and decrepit furniture.

Theo slipped his bag from his shoulders and retrieved a spirit board from within. "Take this," he told Pansy, shoving it in her direction as she turned her pug nose up at the cobwebs coating the wall sconces close by. He reached into his bag once more, his torched tucked underneath of his chin, to pull out the triangular planchette.

Hermione reached into her own bag and pulled out a box of matches and two black candles. Pansy used the toe of her boot to swipe away some settled dust from the hardwood floors and plopped down in her makeshift clearing. "This is a stupid. I cannot believe I allowed myself to be talked into this. Messing with the dead. This is how portals and shit are opened."

"Will you stop being so dramatic, Parkinson?" Draco breathed, rolling his eyes.

He sat in the middle of the floor opposite her, a shiver running through his body though he tried to hide it from Hermione. She tried to remove his coat from around her shoulders, but he refused. "You need it more than me," he told her, taking the candles from her and lighting them one at a time.

"This place is pretty spooky," Hermione commented, tugging his coat around her shoulders once more as she saddled up next to him.

"It's already filled with a negative energy from all of the grief and death this place has seen and you all want to go waking the dead from their slumber," Pansy chided, eyeing a strange cart sitting at the end of one hall.

The interior of the structure was dark, save their torch light and two flickering candles, and everything visible was bathed in an eerie glow. "Who wants to do the honors?" Draco asked, rubbing his dust covered palms against his jeans.

Hermione looked back and forth between he and Theo and finally, the burlier wizard retrieved the planchette and leaned forward into the board. "How do we begin?" he questioned, placing it so that the tiny glass window faced away from him.

"Just ask it some questions," Draco shrugged, leaning forward to place his fingers on it as well and motioning for the girls to do the same.

"Is there anyone here with us?" Hermione said aloud, looking up at the ceiling at the chipped paint on the crown molding as though ghosts would appear from the rafters.

The foursome was quiet for a few beats, save their breaths that swirled in a misty cloud between them. Hermione frowned as they were met with prolonged silence. "Are there any spirits here longing to make contact with the realm of the living?" Draco tried, raising an eyebrow in the candlelight.

There was a sharp gust of wind and the front door swung shut and the candles extinguished. Pansy jumped, and Hermione gasped. Theo laughed loudly as Draco grinned. "Wicked," Theo exclaimed, leaning even closer to the spirit board. "What is your name?"

They all waited, seemingly caught on a single breath, as they stared at the unmoving planchette. It began to slide, just so, and Draco reached across their circle and punched Theo in the arm. "That's not funny!"

Theo let go of the little plank and frowned. "Fuck you."

While the two boys bickered back and forth, the girls stared at their hands moving with the piece of wood, matching looks of horror on their faces. "E.D.G.A.R."

"Edgar? Is that your name?" Pansy asked, her voice beginning to shake with fright.

The planchette moved so quickly to the 'yes' that it nearly snapped out of their hands altogether. "What happened to you, Edgar? How did you end up at the funeral home?" Draco questioned.

Hermione removed her hands completely and moved them to blow on and try to revive them from the biting cold, her stare unwavering from the triangle of wood. The board and planchette did nothing for a few moments and the four friends looked at one another skeptically. Then Pansy, who was the only one to still have any fingertips on the plank, let out an anguished whimper. "It burns! Get it off!" She tried to wiggle her hand away from the game and found she was unable.

"Were you burned?" Hermione asked, clinging to Draco as Theo tried to pry Pansy's hand away from the board.

" _Yes!"_ came the swift response once more and Pansy quickly withdrew her hand, putting her fingertips into her mouth to try and quell the stinging.

She rose, using her other hand to turn the board over, shattering the small glass piece on the planchette and sending the board sliding. "This is ridiculous. And dangerous."

Hermione bit her lip, hating to agree with the brunette on anything, but feeling worried. She had never thought anything would come of their night of fun—she put so little stock into the supernatural. She stood as well, helping Draco to his feet. "We should leave."

"Not yet. We don't have to play with the spirit board anymore, but let's take a peek around, while we're here!" Draco encouraged, sliding his chilled fingers between hers.

Hermione wanted to leave at this point, unsure of who Edgar was and how the planchette had stuck to Pansy's hand. She was certain the others were trying to play a prank on her, she just couldn't prove it. But the ambience in the house was enough to send a cold shiver up her spine and make her hairs stand on end. "Only for a minute. It's getting late."

Draco led her by the hand down a long corridor off of the main foyer, peeking into the rooms as they passed. Nothing out of the ordinary—desks, chairs and the hideous couches that had adorned the front entry. There was a set of double doors at the end and he turned the knob. The ancient wood creaked and groaned as they entered what looked like a church sanctuary. Pews lined two sides of a long aisle and a pulpit sat to the left side at the front. Stained glass windows lined two sides and let shafts of colored light filter through, bathing the room in amber, cobalt and crimson. "Creepy," Draco muttered as their footsteps echoed through the cavernous room.

"Look! An old piano!" Hermione told him, leading him toward it as though drawn like a moth to flame.

"Can you still play?" Draco teased, leaning in to nuzzle below her ear.

"Unlikely," she told him honestly, letting out a small sigh at the feel of his lips on her neck.

Hermione sat at the bench, with Draco behind her, beginning his work once more on the bit of neck showing as he moved her scarf aside. Her fingers were nearly numb with cold, even with her gloves on. She stuffed the gloves into her pockets and wiggled her fingers, allowing them to trickle over the keys. The sound emitted was wretched, the piano horribly out of tune.

"You're right—you can't play anymore," Draco commented, spinning her in the seat to capture her lips with his own.

Hermione tilted up into his kiss, her back hitting the keys behind her as he leaned over her. He took her lip between his teeth gently, eliciting an impatient moan from her. Draco smiled into her, removing his coat from her shoulders and placing it over her lap before his fingers worked like magic over the buttons at the front of her coat. His hand was frigid against the warmth of her body as his palm grazed over her bare side and the lacy cup of her bra.

As he continued to lean on one hand and tease her with the other, the sound of 'Eternal Father, Strong to Save' being played on a poorly tuned piano began to echo through the room. Hermione withdrew her lips form his and looked up at him. "Stop messing around," she reprimanded.

Draco looked at her, bewildered, one hand still running tantalizingly over her left breast, the other now clasped firmly in her hair. "It's probably an old player piano, Hermione. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Hermione swatted him away, moving to button her coat quickly. "No, Draco, it's not. I know enough about them to know if it can self-play. Stop fooling around, now."

With that she pushed him out of her way to get away from the offending instrument. Draco smacked his palms against his thighs. "I can't even play piano when my hands are touching the keys. How the hell do you think I'm managing _this?_ Unless it's a player piano."

Hermione glared at him and walked back in the direction they had come, the haunting old hymn ringing through her ears. Draco trailed after her, clearly not convinced that she knew what she was talking about. "Let's just find Theo and Pansy and get out of here," she instructed.

She knew there was no logical explanation for the incident they had just witnessed, but it did nothing to quell the irritation she felt at Draco. He must have figured out a way to make it work on its own. As they reentered the foyer, Pansy and Theo were coming down the stairs, the latter looking even more pallid than ever. "There are coffins up there!" Theo told them, jabbing a finger over his shoulder.

"What? I want to see," Draco said, dropping Hermione's hand.

She pinched the back of his jumper, stopping him from his upward trek. "I think we're done here, Draco."

"There's a basement, too," Theo ignored Hermione, pointing down toward the floor. "I saw the low windows when we were walking up.

"I wonder what's down there?" Draco inquired, his curiosity obviously piqued.

"Something we don't need to see. Please, let's just go," Hermione said, feeling near begging.

"I agree. Let's just get out of here," Pansy said, surprising no one.

Hermione was not feeling particularly brave any longer and she wanted to get as far away from the funeral parlor and its morose and foreboding ambience as soon as possible. She could hear the hymn still being played in the chapel down the hall and Theo finally seemed to acknowledge the added sound. "What is that?"

"A player piano," Draco responded swiftly, tugging Hermione alongside him as they made their way toward another staircase leading downward.

Once they had descended into the cellar of the house, they found it to be completely restored into some kind of a laboratory. There was a human-sized porcelain table and archaic looking surgical instruments scattered about. Draco went to a large glass-front cabinet and wiped away the grime to reveal glass bottles housed within. "Embalming fluids," he said, one side of his mouth rising in a disgusted sneer.

Hermione looked around herself at the gritty room they were inhabiting. It held the darkest, most anguished and sorrowful feeling of any room they had entered throughout the rest of the Victorian-era mortuary. Theo lifted something that looked like a hand saw and eyed it curiously. "I wonder what all of this is for?" he muttered, watching as Pansy lifted some kind of decaying hose.

"I don't know, but this room makes me uncomfortable—"

Pansy's words were cut short when the sound of a child's laughter filled the room, seeming to come from just outside one of the windows lining the top of the far wall. They saw a pair of feet flit past and Theo and Draco looked at one another before they began racing up the stairs. Hermione and Pansy reluctantly followed as the disembodied laughter grew louder. Draco thrust the front door open, his footsteps slapping against the porch stairs as he pounded down into the side garden.

Theo was hot on his heels, both eager to see from where the laughter was emanating. "Draco!" Hermione hissed loudly, to no avail.

Draco and Theo were running into the cemetery gates, and down between rows of headstones. It appeared as though they were chasing a boy of about six, one who was far quicker than both teens. The laughter continued to ring in Hermione's ears. "Edgar?" Theo called, his voice high pitched with frightened excitement.

Hermione stood, her feet planted firmly on the crooked and softened boards of the porch, her eyes glued to the shadowy figure of a woman, dressed in black mourning attire and veil, ambling slowly through the cemetery. Only her upper half was visible over the stone wall, but Hermione suspected, unless she were seven feet tall, that she may have been _floating._ Hermione and Pansy stood on the porch together, neither one looking away from the gliding specter. She made it to a tall statue of a weeping angel, illuminated in the moonlight, and appeared to place a rose on the statue's base. A loud wailing sounded through the night air, sobs breaking through like waves and mixed with the now distant laughter. "I want to get out of here," Pansy whined, and Hermione could feel her own heart beating out of her chest in agreement.

"Let's go get those two imbeciles," Hermione nodded, her stomach flopping dangerously with nervousness.

"We didn't say goodbye to the spirits," Pansy told her. "With the board—we didn't say goodbye."

"That's all nonsense," Hermione argued, feeling quite the opposite was true as she peered around the stone wall encasing the cemetery.

The Victorian mourner had turned away from the grave she had visited and was coming their way, her dress reaching all the way to the ground though Hermione knew there were no feet touching the grass. Pansy looked ready to cry as they stood against the wall, both frozen with fear as the woman passed them.

The two boys were at the far end of the row of crooked and crumbling stones, their backs to the girls. The little boy was nowhere to be found any longer, and Theo and Draco were no longer moving. Instead they appeared to be talking quietly, their heads close together. "Come on," Hermione told Pansy, grabbing her hand to pull her along, needing the company just as much.

As they crept along, Hermione felt like dozens of pairs of eyes were watching her from every direction. Like those porcelain dolls she hated as a child, she wondered if the statue's and monument's carved eyes followed. Each time she felt the sensation, she looked in the direction she suspected it had come and was met with the flash of a shadow, dissolving or disappearing almost immediately. Hermione suspected it was because of the shadows being cast by the moonlight filtering through the branches of trees, but she couldn't shake the chill running down her spine, knowing it had nothing to do with the cold night air.

"Draco!" she called lightly as she and Pansy neared.

They were wading through knee high grass by this point, thorns from vines and twisted, fallen branches dragging against the girls' legs. Pansy was crying steadily, _"I shouldn't have come here!"_ falling from her lips again and again. "Draco!" Hermione said yet again, frustrated that neither boy was responding to them.

It was as if they couldn't even hear as Hermione and Pansy approached. Pansy swat at a bloody scrape along her shin, caused by a hidden briar bush as they traipsed. Finally approaching Theo and Draco, Hermione could hear them speaking lowly, their words indiscernible. She reached her hand out, grabbing Draco's shoulder forcefully. "Draco, we need to—"

When they turned around, Theo and Draco's faces had turned grey and marbled with violet, their ocular caverns empty black voids. As coal-colored liquid fell from their lips, Hermione's scream broke the silent night like a siren on the wind.

o-o-o

A/N: Creepier this time. Next up is some Pansy/Neville, smut, and mirrors. Please review!


	3. Hall of Mirrors

_A/N: Some Pansy/ Neville. Light smut, light dome/sub dynamics. Very little, but still there, Dramione._

 **Hall of Mirrors**

Neville took in the sights and sounds of the fairgrounds as he and Pansy strode hand-in-hand. They had agreed to a double date with Hermione and Draco, but it was clear to him that Pansy was not enjoying her time there. Hermione had insisted that it would be fun for them all to visit, as the three others had never been. Draco looked slightly miffed as well, a sneer on his face as he watched children prance about. "I really need to learn to say no to you when you try and drag me along to indulge in frivolous Muggle dalliances," he mentioned.

"You know you could never say no to me," Hermione countered and Pansy rolled her eyes.

"You've grown soft, Malfoy," she commented, though her hand tightened around Neville's.

Neville tuned out the bickering going on between the longtime friends and searched the fairgrounds for an attraction that Pansy might find enjoyable. She got motion sick on the rides, so they were out. She used her wand to backhandedly win prizes at the coin-toss, and there was only so many stuffed bears one person could own.

The Ferris wheel loomed overhead and he noticed the way she eyed it wearily. At the far end, beyond all of the fish-and-chips stands and the flashing lights, stood a large structure. Contrasting with the bright lights illuminating them now, it was cast in dark shadows and purple lighting flashed across the front of the building creepily. _Madam Faro's House of Fun._ According to Hermione, this entire mess was meant to be fun, so Neville wondered absently what made that particular structure any more exciting.

"Pans, do you want to head in there? See what kind of fun we can get up to?" Neville suggested, gesturing toward the house.

"Probably more children vomiting up copious amounts of candy floss and carbonated drinks," she replied, her nose wrinkling.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," he told her, looking over at the other two attendees. "Do you want to come with?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I'd much prefer to get back into those dodgems and show Granger here up for a second time," he told Hermione, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he smiled at her cheekily.

"Please, Draco, my car was malfunctioning—probably because of some spell or another that you put on it," she told him, waving at Neville and Pansy as she and Draco broke off to go toward the opposite direction.

Neville looked down at Pansy who was frowning deeply at their surroundings. "This entire thing is barbaric. These people stuff themselves with nauseating foods and then ride all of these spinning contraptions until they vomit. And then, they do it all over again. What is wrong with Muggles?"

Neville laughed lightly and lifted her knuckles to his lips. "Pans, don't be sour. Let's go into the fun house and maybe we can relax a little in there. If you hate it, we'll head back to Hermione's car and wait for them."

Pansy softened her gaze as she stroked her nails down Neville's jawline, harder than a caress, and it sent a shiver down his spine. "Come, Pet."

She grasped his hand once more and led the way to the fun house. Neville sighed in relief at having contained her temper and irritation for a while. Handing the door attendant two tickets, they entered into the structure and were immediately assaulted with fake fog and flickering lights. Within the house, they heard the sound of knocks and someone screamed.

Pansy went ahead as the hall was too narrow to fit side by side. Neville suspected it was a tight squeeze to purposely instill a sense of claustrophobia. Loud music was blasting from every angle and the flickering light only stayed illuminated for a few moments at a time—long enough to see that they were going the right way.

They got to the end of the corridor and as they were turning down a second, a wooden prop busted open and someone hopped out, grabbing the two of them. Pansy jumped and drew her fist back to hit the bloke and Neville caught her hand. Neville quickly pushed her along, muttering apologies to the actor. "You can't assault people."

"He grabbed us," she argued, feeling along the walls the dim corridor they were down now.

Water was dripping from overhead and the floor began to shake beneath their feet. "Bloody hell, I'm about sick of this place," Pansy commented.

Cold air began to blast from spouts on the walls and a haunting laugh filled the air around them. They reached the end of the corridor and Pansy pounded on the wall. The floor opened up and the two dropped through netting to a soft landing below. The strobe lights were back, and, in the flashes, Neville saw that they hand landed on something squishy and smooth. It mimicked what looked to be intestines, though it felt like elastic fabric.

"What in the-?" there was the sound that could only be the portal to hell opening and a man appeared, waving a heavy looking instrument with grooved teeth along the edges frantically in their direction.

"What is _that?"_ Pansy sounded frightened for the first time as she struggled to her feet.

Neville looked at the Muggle instrument, wondering what kind of torture device it was and if the Muggles actually got off on being threatened with death. They scrambled through the fake organs until their feet hit solid ground and a light shined, beckoning them forth. The open doorway led to a room and suddenly their images were reflected back to them from five hundred directions. Pansy looked around, her hair a mess as she raked a hand through to set it straight.

"What in the fuck is this? Some kind of sex dungeon?" she questioned, turning this way and that to swish her skirt and smile at her reflections.

"What makes you say that?" Neville questioned, looking around at himself staring back at him from every angle.

Pansy looked at him with both brows raised toward her hairline, as though his question were incredibly daft. And then her features transformed, and his heart began to race. The look she was giving him was all too familiar and it made his blood heat deliciously. She strode to him with a little extra sway in her step and he caught sight of the way her skirt bounced tantalizingly over her rear as she did.

Her fingers went beneath the collar of his jumper, pulling a silver chain with a snake charm out to glitter in the ostentatious lighting. An outward sign he belonged to her, and her alone. Pansy looked at it as it was eye level, lovingly running a finger over the snake's back before her eyes flickered up toward his. "On your knees, Pet."

Neville looked around uselessly. There were no other souls anywhere near them. "Are you hesitating?" Pansy asked, glaring at him.

If they had been at home, she would have given him fifteen lashings for his insolence. Hell, she still might. The thought made him ache with anticipation. He dropped to his knees before her and placed his hands on his thighs, his head bowed to assume his position. "No, Mistress."

"I don't tolerate disobeying, Pet. You know this," she told him, lifting one heeled foot to press against his forehead and tilt his face toward her.

"Sorry, Mistress, it won't happen again," he told her, his eyes flickering behind where she stood to see their reflection.

He looked the perfect picture of a submissive and she looked sexy as hell, her domineering personality coming out in the way she moved with purpose and an authoritative grace. Neville had no idea how they had fallen together, had never thought he needed someone so commanding and sexually charged to lead him. Pansy was the perfect woman, in every way, and somehow they had come together. She didn't often say _"I love you,"_ but instead showed it in the sweet and loving ways she took care of him—the massages and baths after a particularly brutal punishment; the way she possessively defended him to anyone who dare speak a word about him or their relationship; the way her hand would tighten around his infinitesimally when she did or said something she knew he would like.

Now, Neville, his face still shining up at her as she smirked down at him, felt the love, the gratitude, the wanton abandonment of sense course through him. "I want your head between my thighs," she instructed.

His eyes looked away from her for the briefest of moments, but it was enough for her to put her hand around his throat and tighten, her nails pinching into his flesh. "What did I say about hesitation?"

"That you would not tolerate it, Mistress," he responded when her fingers let up.

"You're going to have a go on the whipping post, Pet. That's twice now you've disobeyed a direct order," she warned him, her hand moving to scrape into his shoulder. "Do you have a problem with public displays of affection?"

He bowed his head. "No, Miss."

"Worried these might be two-way mirrors and some sick pervert might be watching?" she teased, stepping into him closer.

Heat radiated from her body and Neville licked his lips and his hands fidgeted on his thighs. Pansy was sneering once more when she leaned down, lifting his chin with a crooked finger. "Or perhaps, that thought gets you hard?"

Her hand traveled to his groin, pressing against him in a way that had him biting back a groan. "Who knew the sweet little Gryffindor would get all hot and bothered at the thought of a little exhibitionism?"

She was teasing him, one of Neville's favorite parts of being submissive—sitting back and taking the taunts, the scratches, the insults, all the while knowing she was doing it out of love. Pansy came to stand right in front of him, lifting her skirt before his face. _"Now!"_ was her barked order.

Neville raised his eyes to look at her and leaned forward, placing a kiss against her mons. He brought his hands to run along her thighs and was pleasantly surprised when she didn't reprimand him for touching her so early on. His first sweet taste of her was met with her hand fisting into his hair painfully. He grunted, and she draped her leg over his shoulder lazily.

A string of curses fell from her lips and her hands twisted in his hair, pulling him closer to her and he was suffocating in her warmth, his mouth moving against her rhythmically. They heard the sound of that godforsaken instrument from the squishy room and Neville's eyes opened quickly. His pulse was racing—they were really going to be caught. The sound of Muggles—a man and woman—laughing came from right outside the door.

Pansy looked at him, the look on her face one of fierce agitation at being interrupted. She reached down and grasped a fistful of Neville's shirt, pulling him swiftly to his feet and crushing her lips to his bruisingly. As soon as their lips met, he felt a squelching sensation behind his navel and they were apparated to the car park. Standing next to Hermione's car, Neville tried the handle. It was locked and just as he was getting ready to pull out his wand to unlock the door, Hermione and Draco's heads became visible in the backseat from underneath a cloak of invisibility.

Draco put his hand over the lock to hold it down and glared at the two. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his hair was askew. "Don't even think about it Longbottom!"

Hermione's face was burning a bright scarlet, even in the dim lighting as she tried to hide where her sweater had been torn open. Neville put a hand over his eyes and turned around while Pansy cackled gleefully. "Well, isn't this a _wicked_ turn of events."

o-o-o

A/N: Light smut, and a Dramione sneak-in there at the end. Please review.


	4. Three Sisters

**Three Sisters of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black**

"I never thought we'd be dealing with Bellatrix Lestrange again," Theo Nott griped, wading through knee high brambles.

"I never thought I'd be a Horcrux when I was out hunting the rest, but such is life," Harry Potter replied, his eyes scanning the trees and finding comfort in the other Aurors surrounding them.

"Fucking Narcissa Malfoy. How the hell did we manage to let that one slip through the cracks?" Theo questioned as they came to a clearing in the forest.

"She saved my life," Harry shrugged, his heart beginning to race at the sight of the ran down shack before them.

"And now she's building another one. It's unnatural, Potter. She's playing God," his partner argued, though Harry knew Theo had once considered Narcissa to be the closest thing he had ever had to a mother.

"It's her sister. We all know she went a little batty after Draco's death," Harry mentioned.

Theo grew quiet for a few moments and Harry knew exactly what he was thinking— _Why couldn't Narcissa be bothered to bring_ him _back, then?_ Theo had told Harry of the deep, unrequited love he had felt for Draco Malfoy back in Hogwarts. Malfoy's suicide had been the turning point for Theo Nott, and he had subsequently marched right into Harry's office in the Auror's department and demanded to be put through training. Harry felt for the wizard, he really did, but there was no time for emotions as they advanced on the shack. He swallowed down his own jealousy.

"Come on, mate. Let's just get this over with," Harry told him with a distracted clap on the back.

A loud screech sounded from within the shack and a series of pops followed. Harry and Theo exchanged a glance and moved forward. Harry's hand closed around the vial in his pocket—a precious few drops of Teddy Tonks' blood, the only Black readily accessible to him. It would be enough to create a soft spot in the blood wards. He knew Andromeda had already arrived, he could sense it. She had been adamant about speaking with Narcissa before the raid, against his commands. "On my count, and be careful for Andy," Harry whispered, and his team nodded from all around, surrounding the structure and them.

"One," he removed the vial from his pocket, his wand gripped tightly in the other hand. "Two," he popped the cork from the glass and gave Theo a nod. "Three!" he tipped the vial and three drops of blood dripped onto the threshold of the door.

There was a rippling shimmer in the still night air before them and Theo, always one for theatrics, kicked the door with his heavy boot. Wands at the ready, they advanced into the home. The entire house was dark, save light coming from under the crack of a door opposite them. A crackling noise and then another disembodied scream. Harry took off at a sprint and blew the door from the hinges, Theo hot on his heels.

The scene before them was one of absolute chaos. Andromeda was cowered in the corner, her wand snapped into two with her hands over her ears as though trying to block out a high-pitched noise. She appeared to be screaming in agony, though no noise was being emitted. Narcissa was against the wall, being held up by two rotted looking hands around her neck.

Harry was momentarily stunned into immobility as he watched a ghastly, ghoulish version of Bellatrix Lestrange attacking her sister. She had been crudely stitched back together, her hair a massive pile, with clumps hanging from it like spiders dangling from a web. Her mouth was drawn taut with dehydration and her jaw was visible through a hole in her cheek. The entire shack reeked of decomposing flesh and Harry had to stifle a gag.

"Holy, fuck! Narcissa!" Theo roared, pushing past Harry, who simultaneously gasped, "Andy?"

His feet finally moved and as Theo and two other Aurors began shooting spells in Bellatrix's direction, he went to where Andromeda was slumping over, tears streaming from her face. "Andy, what happened?" he urged, trying to lift her into a proper seated position.

Her entire body was trembling as Harry pushed the hair away from her face, trying to assess any injury as quickly as possible. The other Aurors were closing in on Bellatrix, every spell they sent her direction being refracted. The maniacal cackling of Harry's nightmares sounded through the room as Bellatrix dropped an unconscious Narcissa and turned to face Harry directly.

She looked even more demonic than she had in life, her eyes sunken and clouded and her skin shrunken back. "Potter," she croaked, and her voice was hoarse after her disembodiment.

Harry's mind was whirring, the inability of the other Aurors to tame her causing deep confusion. The crudely built monster, far more grotesque than anything Dr. Frankenstein could have resurrected, advanced on him. Electricity crackled around her and it occurred to him that the magic encased within and clouding around her was far more advanced than he could have guessed, no wand required.

He looked over her shoulder as he backed up, aiming every spell he could muster in her direction. The face he sought above all others was absent from the crowd closing in on Bellatrix. _Theo!_ He saw him struggling to help Narcissa regain consciousness. Harry was going to die, and Theo would never _know_.

Andromeda rose from behind Harry as Bellatrix reached out for him, fire igniting in her fingertips. She pushed him behind her and locked hands with her younger sister, who began shrieking in an unearthly manner. _"No, Andy!"_ Narcissa screeched, throwing Theo away from her as she struggled to her feet.

Narcissa grabbed onto Bellatrix's shoulder and when the three witches were all connected, a loud whistling sounded around them, and the windows blew out of the panes in large shards. Harry and the other Aurors were knocked backward as a blinding light surrounded the Black sisters and fire engulfed all three. They stared on in horror as they witches burned together, the fire licking at its surroundings but not damaging a single thing beyond the women consumed.

The screams of the three women were so piercing, he had to cover his ears in the same manner Andromeda had covered hers when they first arrived, lest the noise causing internal injuries. The entire shack was rocking and crumbling around them, raw and ancient Black magic surging around them. Harry was on his knees and he put his forehead toward the floor, protecting his head as best as he could as his levitation charms failed.

Then, just as swiftly as it had begun, it was over. The sound of sand running through an hourglass could be heard and he looked up to find that the fire had incinerated the Black sisters completely, leaving only a pile of ash behind. Harry felt a pang in his heart as he thought of Andy, who had sacrificed herself for him, had tried to stop her sister from playing with ancient and powerful magic. Teddy's face flickered across his mind.

Then, the face he wanted to see livened more than anything flashed behind his lids and he crawled to where Theo had fallen away from Narcissa, tossing boards of wood away. The larger wizard was completely unconscious, and Harry could not see his chest rise or feel breath coming from his open mouth. "Theo! Oh, fuck!"

The other Aurors were moving within the remnants of home, trying to move boards out of the way to ensure that they were the sole occupants. Surprisingly, they had all remained unharmed, save one. The entire raid had taken no more than five minutes, but it had been the longest of Harry's life. And now his partner was dying on him. He dropped his wand and tilted Theo's head back to begin CPR, basic Muggle instincts coming into play.

His fists held together pumped to a steady beat over Theo's heart, trying to thrust life back into him. Followed by two breaths. He repeated the cycle, all the while releasing a string of curses and "Dammit, Nott, stop being so stubborn!"

Theo began to cough, and Harry turned him over on his side in case of illness. Bagsley, a junior Auror, crawled over broken glass and wooden shards into the room, wand pointed at Theo and began reciting every healing spell he could think of to try and regain Theo's health. "Potter, why the hell didn't you just use a reviving spell? You nearly cracked his ribs!"

"You know, Potter," Theo croaked, turning over to his back and running a hand over his chest to assess the damage, "if you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask. Not pretend to do some archaic muggle method of revival."

Harry's face grew warm and he silently cursed his blind ignorance in the face of trouble. Theo smiled up at him and placed a hand behind his neck, pulling his face down as he leaned up to meet him half way.

Stiff with shock, Harry eventually loosened and cupped one of Theo's bloodied cheeks in his hand, kissing him back with equal fervor. It was a moment Harry had only dreamt of since being assigned the rookie Auror. He had imagined their first kiss going a few different ways—on brooms as they played a game of one-on-one; against the filing cabinets in the archives at the ministry; in front of a roaring fire at Grimmauld Place. Never did Harry imagine his first kiss with Theo would be over the ashes of the Black sisters in the middle of a dingy shack in the forests of Germany, surrounded by their colleagues. But he would take what he could get.

When Theo finally pulled away to lean up on his elbow weakly, he gave Harry a shy smile. "You really know how to dazzle a bloke, Potter. Next time, though, let's not drag our undead foes and their batshit siblings along for the ride."

o-o-o

A/N: These pairings are killing me, guys. But I've enjoyed the challenges. The next (and final) installment features a vampire Hermione and a mighty tasty Draco.


	5. Sanguinary

_Author's Note: Vampiric Hermione—contains dub-con, strangely old-fashioned, but not-quite weird smut. Thank you again to_ _ **sleepygrimm**_ _, who created all of the prompt aesthetics. Happy Hallowe'en, everyone!_

 **Sanguinary**

Draco Malfoy lay, battered and broken in a thicket of brush on the forest's bed. He smoothed his hand over the mossy, damp ground around him and groaned when his wand was nowhere to be found. His lip was split where he had been hit and he was certain his orbital socket was shattered as the entire left side of his face swelled. Potter and his band of merry jackasses had ambushed his camp, intent on stealing Salazar Slytherin's goblin-crafted locket.

His head hit the brush beneath him and he let out a long-suffering moan. The noise must have been such that it drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps, because when Draco reopened his one decent eye, he was looking up into the face of the most angelic woman he had ever lain eyes upon.

Her hair was tied half-up with a long emerald ribbon, the bottom half covering her shoulders with large, bouncing curls. Eyes, so rich and earth-toned with flecks of green amidst the mahogany and lips of a luscious, robust shade of rose. Her skin was like that of fine porcelain, so smooth he had the urge to reach out and caress it with the backs of his knuckles. A corset pressed her bosom just so and pale mounds spilled from the top and Draco had to swallow harshly, lust clouding his already-spotty vision.

"Are you all right, sir?" the woman asked, and her voice was like that of a goddess, tinkling and chiming melodically.

The pull to the woman was growing ever stronger as she leaned over him, her floral scent spilling over him and encompassing his senses. Draco pushed himself up onto his elbows and grimaced when his ribs gave a stabbing revolt. The woman leant down and took him beneath the arm, assisting him in standing. "You're hurt. What's happened?"

As she wrapped an arm around his waist and draped his arm over her shoulders, her skin was surprisingly cool to the touch, though the day was fair weathered. "Bit of a scuffle is all," he managed to croak between swollen lips.

The woman looked up at him, her eyes roaming over his bruised face. "I'll say. I would dare think you lost this round, my friend."

Draco huffed a laugh and winced as his entire body protested. Her head nodded toward a mare, waiting patiently along the dirt path. "We'll have to get you up onto the horse and I'll take you to your destination."

The wizard's eyes swept the area where he had fallen once more. His wand was _definitely_ missing. _Shit_. He looked upon the waiting horse as an unsightly obstacle and sighed. "I don't live far from here. A few miles east as the crow flies, an hour or so on foot—or hoof, as the path is winding and fraught with brush and brambles."

"Not a problem," she told him, removing his hand from her shoulders and bracing him against her sturdy traveling companion.

With careful maneuvering, Draco was rested on the back of the horse, his body weight pressing into the soft curve of the woman's back. "What's your name?" he questioned just as she tapped her heels into the mare's sides and clicked her tongue, beginning their journey.

"Hermione," she replied simply, leaning forward slightly under his frame.

 _Hermione._ It was exotic, beautiful, and rolled around in his brain malleably. He buried his face into her nest of hair and inhaled deeply, a strangely sweet smell that coursed through him and straight to his groin. "My name is Draco."

"A fierce dragon, are you?" she teased with a trickling laugh like water over river stones.

"I _do_ live in a castle," he replied, placing his forehead in the crook of her shoulder and fighting the urge to kiss her exposed flesh.

"You're weak in battle," Hermione argued, placing her hand over his on her cinched waist.

"You should see the other men."

"I'm sure you really did some damage from your resting place in the shrubbery."

Draco let out a booming laugh and Hermione leaned into him slightly, running her hand behind her and into his hair. Little by little, his injuries were almost forgotten, his inhibitions lowered. He may have been the wizard, but he was completely bewitched by this mysterious maiden. They were silent as they rode toward his manor, his body shuddering and spasming as a jolt of pain rocked him now and again. But he paid his body very little mind, favoring instead the petite woman his arms were currently encircling.

All too soon, they came through the thicket and into a clearing, his castle looming ahead forebodingly. "Well, you weren't lying—you are a dragon who lives in a castle."

The horse brought them to the end of the bridge spanning the width of a fast-moving river and begrudgingly, Draco requested they stop. Hermione assisted him in dismounting the mare and he gave a pat down the silken hair of her mane, staring the entrancing woman in the eyes. Her eyes were even more strangely colored in the dim torchlight—mahogany with a ring of reddish sienna toward the center.

The longer Draco stared into Hermione's eyes, the stronger the pull to her became. His heart rate increased, and he noticed her pupils constrict as they darted over his pulse point. Her tongue darted out to glide sensually over her lower lip and he wet his own. "I can heal you, if you'd let me," she offered, walking toward him a pace.

The rational part of his psyche told him there was no possible way to heal a broken eye socket and split lips, broken ribs or bruised muscle. But the other part—the one currently screaming in his mind—told him to invite her in, humor her, kiss her, _fuck her._ "Come in, then. I'll get the servants to retrieve you anything you may need."

Draco crossed the threshold and he felt her close behind him suddenly. A shiver ran down his spine, a ripple of danger raising gooseflesh over his skin. He turned to face Hermione and she was on him in a mere flash. The blink of an eye saw him pressed forcefully against the stone wall, his head thudding near a torch. "What are you—"

He tried to fight back, but Hermione held him steadfast, the stones scraping along his back and drawing blood. There was a purring at the back of her throat and a grin spread across her face. The angelic angles of her face were suddenly demonic as she gazed upon him. Her canine teeth appeared to protrude over her bottom lip, digging into the flesh in a way that seemed as though it would be painful. There was definite fear radiating through him as she pressed closer to him. "Such a sweet little treat," she cooed in his ear as her tongue ran a line from his jaw to his collarbone, her teeth grazing him.

Hadn't he been entranced by her sweet scent, longing to see if she tasted to match? And here she was, licking and nipping at him. Draco tried to push her away once more and she thrust him back, his injured body slamming against the wall once more. "No. You'll do as I say."

Her eyes flashed dangerously and Draco's widened, his head nodding dumbly. His fingers twitched as they went to grasp his absent wand and he nearly groaned in frustration. "Bed chambers?"

"Up the staircase and round the bend," he replied, the words sliding from his lips before he could stop them.

The grip of her fingers around his wrist was nearly bone crushing and he noticed she was vibrating with energy as they went up the winding stairwell. His heart was hammering within and her grip tightened slightly. The next sequence of events happened quickly and Draco would later admit that he couldn't recall it all too well. He was intoxicated on Hermione's presence—a heady mix of unabashed lust and an underlying dread for what was to come.

They were in his bed chambers; Hermione was pushing him quickly toward the grand bed until he was sitting on the edge. She leaned over him as her lips brushed against his swollen eye. Her teeth scraped against the skin and he withdrew until she threaded her fingers into his hair and held it in a knot at the back of his head, not allowing him movement. Curiously, the pain in his eye subsided as she licked and nipped at the wound, a sultry moan sounding from her throat. Hermione's hips rocked against his thigh, seeking friction and his hands raised of their own accord to the long lacing at the back of her corset. With a skilled dexterity, his nimble fingers worked it loose in mere moments. Unclasping the front busk of the garment, he let it fall to the floor beside their feet.

Hermione was skimming her nose along his jaw, licking the hollow just below his ear, as his hands raised to run over the swell of her breasts. Her hand, square in his chest, pushed him back to lay on the mattress and her mouth finally, _finally,_ found his. Taking a moment to glide her healing saliva along the splits, she gave him a few moments before her mouth moved tentatively against his.

At the back of his mind, Draco realized that the lore, the folk tales, must be true. She was one of the Undead, a being of the night. He had only heard stories up until now, but the queer pull he felt, the lure of her body, was unnatural. If she were merely a witch, she would be the first with healing saliva. He rationalized, too, that allowing her to nip and suckle at his skin was life-threatening.

Damn if he cared. Draco needed to feel this woman, on him, surrounding him, gliding over him. Needed to feel those lips all over his body. Needed to feel her writhe beneath him in unbridled ecstasy. Through the fogging of his mind, he was able to recall that vampires had a nearly insatiable sexual appetite.

Hermione slipped her skirts away, leaving her glorious body bared to him and she was on him once more, kissing him as though she were a succubus draining his life force. When had she undressed him? Draco could not recall. He felt like an outsider looking in, everything happening in slow-motion around him.

Her mouth—those plump and delectable lips and pointed canines—grazed the flesh near his nipple and his back arched into her touch, each tear of his skin bringing healing to his ribs, each swipe of her tongue closing the puncture wounds. She was inching her way down the length of his torso, each move of her mouth purposeful, each pinch of her hand creating new bruises as she restrained herself.

Draco watched as her bare breasts brushed against his hardened length and his eyes rolled back in his head as her hair tickled along, her nails scraping down his thighs as she drew his glistening tip between her lips. Eyes fluttering behind their lids, his hand found its way to her hair, pushing her head to force her to take his entirety. Hermione's hand thrust his from her hair and she pulled away, looking positively murderous when she looked down at him. "Your hands stay _by your sides_."

"You just feel so good," he groaned, his wrists screaming in pain where she pressed them into the blankets beside him.

"You are to do as I say, and only as I say," she commanded, and he noticed a dried drop of crimson on her chin.

Her demands were hypnotic, and he felt like he was wading through a trance as she climbed over his thighs. With him poised at her entrance, she ran her fingernails harshly over his bare chest, drawing beads of blood in their wake. Hermione's eyes were hooded with lust as she bent to run the tip of her tongue over each ribbon blooming on his skin. The taste of him appeared to drive her mad, bringing her to sink over him, inch by agonizing inch.

If the feel of her mouth was euphoric, the feel of her silken core wrapped tightly around his length was paradise right here on earth. A string of curses he would blush to say in front of ladies fell from his lips. "Touch me, leave scorching trails over my entire body, between my legs, along my dripping seam," Hermione cooed, arching her back so that her breasts plunged beautifully outward.

The lump in his throat was nearly suffocating him. His hands followed trails his mind could not anticipate and Draco rolled her taut nipple between his fingers as his hips began to buck upward to meet her downward thrusts. His thumb brushed along her aching core, each swipe of the circle bringing her closer. The hand not working her roamed down her back, gripped her arse roughly, dragged her hips to smack down into his.

Draco felt himself losing control, his toes curling and thighs vibrating. His cock throbbed and swelled in side of her, chasing a release. Hermione rolled her hips, gripping his with her nails. She was cool around him, a sensation he should have expected, but instead was surprising to him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt, tingling and silky in her chill.

Hermione was speaking again, whispering into his ear, promising many days of pure heaven to come if he would only join her. Draco put his head back into the pillows, his elbows supporting some of his weight as their bodies bucked and rutted in an animalistic fashion. Perspiration—his—made them slick and their frames slipped against one another. His hands were once again pinned by his sides, Hermione licking at his pulse point. "Please, Draco. I've been lonely for so long. Stay with me," she purred into his ear.

With a particularly deep downward thrust on her part, Draco let out a groan, his eyes closed and lips parted. "Forever," the word fell from his tongue before he could process the transaction.

It was all she needed to hear as she threaded their fingers together on either side of his head, her lips pressed against his neck. "I'll take care of you," was her whispered echo into his mind as he lost control and black exploded into purple and red behind his eyelids.

Just as a sensual moan fell from his mouth, her teeth grazed the flesh of his throat and a fire licked through his jugular and spread through his entire body. Pain mixed with pleasure as her body moved slowly, savoring him as he spilled into her, his frame shaking like a leaf on a limb. Draco could feel the sensation of his life-giving blood being pulled from his venous system, an agonizing contrast to the way her sinuous movements caused momentary memory loss.

His vision began to dim, turning black around the edges and closing rapidly as he fought to maintain consciousness. Hermione was making little mewling noises at the back of her throat as she lapped and laved at him, her hands and thighs pinning him into place. At the back of his mind, he knew he should be worried, afraid, disconcerted. But there was a new voice in his head, speaking sensual words of an eternity of carnal pleasures and it drowned out all logical facets of his brain.

Draco gave into her—into her hushed demands, her forced pleasures, her request for forevermore. If this is what eternity would feel like, he could learn to love her.

o-o-o

A/N: Please review!


End file.
